


Another Bad Day

by tommygirl



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: F/M, Ficathon, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tommygirl/pseuds/tommygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rory is not having the best day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladybug218](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladybug218/gifts).



> Written For ladybug218 who wanted Rory/OMC (Gilmore Girls) in the The OC/Genderbender Ficathon

There were times when Rory Gilmore knew that the day she was about to face was going to be horrendous and neverending, and today was one of them. It had nothing to do with the Organic Chemistry test looming in the vast distance of lunchtime for which she was ill prepared—no one had been able to explain to her why a journalism major required science classes—or that her article for the university newspaper was less-than-stellar at the moment. It was just something that infiltrated the air, something that she could feel in her bones every so often, a jittery form of existential dread…and she had yet to be wrong. That feeling always accounted for the worst of the worst days in the history of her life.

So she was ready for the phone call—well, not ready, because she had been sleeping, but it made sense as she muttered bad words under her breath.

“Hello?” Rory managed to groan into her cellphone after the seventh ring. She glanced at her clock…not even seven am. Though she couldn’t complain because four hours sleep was a record for her this semester.

“I had the weirdest dream last night,” her mother began. Rory sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, as her mother went on, “You had an extra nose.”

“I haven’t ingested any caffeine yet and have nowhere near enough energy to warrant this conversation.”

“Exactly how much justifies a talk like this?”

“I don’t know. Probably a lot. Probably not even possible to quantify such a thing.”

“Can I help it if you have a second nose? I mean, what could that possibly _mean_? Is this some sort of motherly sixth sense that chose to kick into gear now? A warning of some sort...”

“Maybe I’m about to lose the sense of smell,” Rory offered. It was too early to do anything but placate her mother.

She heard her mother scoff, “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s just a silly thing to say.”

“Because sharing weird dreams involving me and extra body parts is normal.”

Her mother ignored her and asked, “Are you planning to have plastic surgery? Is this some sort of Michael-Jackson-I’m-so-ugly-and-must-keep-fixing-things complex that I need to nip in the bud? Where did I go wrong raising you, Rory? I mean what necessitates this wanting of an extra nose?”

“I _don’t_ want an extra nose. This is your broken psyche, not mine.”

“An extra eye I can see. Sure, it’s a bit disturbing, but it might come in handy.”

Rory groaned again, “Mom…”

“An extra mouth would even be useful. Think of how many more slices of Luke’s pie you could ingest,” She paused, but not long enough for Rory to respond, “Though I guess it would be more a need for two stomachs for eating purposes and that’s way too many Pilates for anyone’s liking. Not that I would do Pilates-so I guess that would be me ignoring exercise twice and possibly having the twice the amount of guilt.”

"You don't have guilt."

"True.  It's not my fault I was the one blessed with a wonderful metabolism.   _Anyway_ , back to the two noses thing--"

“Again. Haven’t had any coffee yet, mom,” Rory replied. She crept around the room, careful not to wake Paris up, and grabbed a few of her toiletries. She yawned into the phone and said, “I’m going to get a shower and some caffeine into my system. I’ll call you back when I am fully functional.”

“Without an extra nose?”

Rory rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help but smile as she replied, “Without an extra nose. Promise. No plans to take on the appearance of the Elephant Man. Stop eating Mexican so close to bedtime.”

“How did you—“

“An extra nose!”

“Fair enough. Love you, hon. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye,” Rory replied. She shut her phone off, dropped it onto her bed, and picked up her towel in one swoop. She yawned again and made her way down the hall to the community bathrooms.

Seven am on a college campus was like a scene from a horror movie, a scene where the protagonist awakes to find that she’s one of the last people on the face of the earth that has not turned into a flesh-eating zombie. It was eerie and yet comforting, a bit of quiet time to get her thoughts in order and prepare for the day ahead of her.

“Hey, watch it,” a voice said from…somewhere…around her.

It was too late though. Rory banged into the owner of the voice and all her belongings went scattering across the floor of the hall. She groaned and fell to the ground to gather her things up and said, “Sorry.”

“I wouldn’t suggest sleepwalking in the halls, Gilmore.”

Rory looked up and focused her eyes on the body attached to the voice and untied Converse sneakers in front of her, half-expecting it to be an acquaintance from class. The poorly lit hall added a fluorescent tinge to his face and, for the life of her, she couldn’t place him. Light brown hair that was perfectly coiffed in that I-rolled-out-of-bed-with-this-perfectly- _imperfect_ -hair way, the greenest eyes she had ever seen, almost like it was unnatural, a smirk to hide his amusement at her disheveled appearance, and tall—so tall that she felt like she was a member of the Lollipop Guild from Munchkin Land.

She tried not to come across as flustered, but he was staring at her and she had no idea who he was and there was this strange feeling in her gut, this visceral reaction to the guy that made a part of her want to grab him and kiss the smirk off his face. Not a normal Rory Gilmore response to anything.

And how did he know her name? How did Mr. Green Eyes whom she had never seen before know her name?

It was best to quash this thing before it actually _became_ a thing. She had learned her lesson the hard way with Jesse—that the weird sensations coursing through her and heart palpitations might be wonderful for other people, but it only led to tears for her.

“Sorry,” she repeated. For someone who had such a love for the English language and could talk circles around just about anyone (her mother excluded), its proper use abandoned her at the most inopportune times. Talking was something she could no longer do, to the point that it made running away seem almost appealing.

He crossed his arms and stared at her. This smug gaze that made her feel naked, made her actually look down to make sure she was still wearing her robe and pajamas. He handed her the cosmetic bag that had gone flying and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied, silently adding, _who are you?_ “Thanks.”

“Eyes open now?”

A part of her wanted nothing more than to point out that he hadn’t managed to avoid bumping into her either, but that was a problem considering the whole speech-is-not-my-friend thing. Instead she nodded. No words. Nothing would come out...just a nod and weird leer.

Lovely, she was sure. She would soon be referred to as crazy robe girl of Brewster Hall.

He didn’t say anything else—stared at her for another few seconds before he shrugged and walked off. She found herself watching him until he disappeared around the corner and only then did she allow herself to breath. When she did, she inhaled his aftershave and again with the sweaty palms and heart palpitations.

Oh, this was going to be a good day.

**

Rory trudged across campus as the rain pelted her face and the wind whipped her hair into her mouth. She kept pushing it back as she walked, but it was an act of futility. Never being one to prove her wrong, the cosmos had continued to harass her throughout the remainder of the morning, causing her to be late for her exam and creating monsoon-like weather as soon as she stepped out of the building.

Rory clutched her bag over her head and glanced evilly at all the students around her who had umbrellas or raincoats. Stupid weather channel, claiming to know about things like “no rain in sight” and “nice days for the rest of the week”—it was all lies. She was getting soaked and looking incredibly stupid in the process.

She finally decided to drop the pretense of staying dry. She glanced ahead, about a hundred yards to the cafeteria, before ducking her head and sprinting for the door. She would run for it, get some coffee and lunch, and hopefully dry out before her afternoon meeting.

Her plan was a good one considering her options.

She didn’t account for being tackled by a fellow classmate at the front entrance. She fell backwards, her bag splattering on the ground, all eyes on her, and rain practically drowning her.

“Great,” she muttered.

“Twice in less than six hours. You better be careful or people might start talking, Gilmore.”

“No, it couldn’t possibly...” her thoughts ran off as she looked up and, sure enough, there he was. Same guy from that morning with his hand extended to help her up.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Rory blurted out. She waved off his hand and stood herself up.

He went to pick up her bag for her, but she grabbed it. She wasn’t sure where this anger was coming from, but at least she had remembered how to talk. So it was a plus and a step in the right direction, considering their conversation that morning. She shook her head, spraying water all over the place, and asked, “Is this some new form of stalking?”

“Me?” he replied. He glanced around at the small crowd that had formed despite the rain and said, “You banged into me, sweetheart.”

“ _Sweetheart?_ Who are you? Humphrey Bogart?” Rory clutched her bag to her chest and tried to push her wet locks of hair back off her face. She sighed—deep breaths in, deep breaths out—and said, “Whatever. Bye.”

She walked off into the warmth of the cafeteria foyer. She knew people were still watching her. That she could handle, but she hadn’t expected the guy to follow her. He blocked her from entering the main cafeteria area. She looked at him and asked, “What?”

“Are you okay? You took quite a fall.”

“I’m fine,” she replied. She refused to meet the guy’s gaze because he had those green eyes that pulled her right in, made thought impossible, and she had embarrassed herself enough that day.

“Gilmore...”

“How do you know my name?”

He grinned at her and said, “Because we know each other.”

“No, _we_ don’t. You know me, which is a good thing since I keep falling down around you, but I have no idea who you are.”

“I can’t decide if I’m hurt by this revelation or vindicated in knowing you’ve admitted responsibility for your recent spill.”

Rory threw her bag over her shoulder and mimicked the guy’s stance. Did he know he was infuriating? She was sick of infuriating boys who were all smarts and charm and managed to get under her skin. It was like the Rory she usually was—a Rory she was quite fond of most of the time—faded into the background and was replaced with this girly girl who couldn’t think or breathe or walk around guys. She was beginning to think her mother had the right idea with the not-settling-down-because-most-boys-are-dumb philosophy. Rory decided it was best not to play into his hands and repeated the question, “Who are you?”

“Jake. Ashgrove. We’re in Literary Theories together.”

Rory shut her eyes against the information and then pointed at him, “You were the guy that peer-edited my paper and called it ‘pedestrian’ and ‘about as bold as a houseplant.’ I had to redo my entire paper in order to avoid a failing grade.”

“I merely pointed out the problem areas before you made a huge mistake and handed it in as it was.”

“You... _pedestrian_? Who talks like that? And I’ll have you know that I’m not pedestrian. Quite unpedestrian—highly enigmatic in fact,” Rory replied. She stared at him, eyed him over from the Converse sneakers on his feet to the corduroy pants to the black sweater, and said, “And I’m not sure I should be so concerned with what someone who is so obviously trying to mimic Jack Kerouac thinks.”

He shrugged and replied, “Dammit, I was going for a William Burroughs look.”

“And now you’re mocking me,” Rory replied incredulously.

He smiled and said, “You spent three pages on the symbolism of the color green in The Great Gatsby, Gilmore. That’s freshmen English in any high school.”

“Whatever.”

“I always thought you were more original than that. That’s why I said it. Sorry for inferring that you were pedestrian,” he replied. He shrugged again and said, “Anyway, since you’re okay, I’m going before you decide to fling us both down a flight of stairs for an encore.”

Rory felt her lips curl into a smile—the traitors—and she replied, “Very funny.”

He clutched his chest and said, “Wow. The girl knows how to smile.” He turned and made his way toward the door.

She called out, “Hey Jake?” He spun around and she said, “You were right about the paper.”

“I know.”

“Want to get a cup of coffee? My treat since I plowed you down.”

He nodded and walked back over to her. The two of them entered the cafeteria, but Jake stopped a few feet within the room. Rory glanced at him nervously and he motioned to his clothes, “Do you really think I look like a beatnik? Here I was going for Emo.”

“Not so successful with the Weezer look, I’m afraid.”

“Good to know,” Jake replied. Rory’s breath caught in her throat as Jake’s arm draped around her shoulders and he replied, “This is the start of a beautiful relationship, Gilmore.”

Okay, maybe it wasn’t such a bad day after all. She would have to discuss this with her mother—appearing like a spaz in front of most of the university versus possible something with Mr. Green Eyes.

_{Fin}_

**Author's Note:**

> I did my best with this though I'm hardly qualified to channel Rory (much more a Lorelai girl myself) so I hope it's enjoyable. Much love to Nance and Steph for the beta work and not laughing too hard at the first draft.


End file.
